


The Perks of Being a Wall-Crawler

by ThatLittleEnglishLass



Category: Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Attempt at Humor, Because yey for emotional maturity, Canon-Typical Violence, Eventual Romance, Just people being adults, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Slow Build, Supervillains galore!, They're all going to be in here, When I can be arsed, at some point, not too much though, seriously
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-06
Updated: 2015-04-06
Packaged: 2018-03-21 15:08:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,710
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3696923
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThatLittleEnglishLass/pseuds/ThatLittleEnglishLass
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's been a few months since Mr Spider went and chomped poor old Peter's hand, and he's still getting to grips with this newfound superhero-ism-ness...stuff.</p><p>Well, it's a good thing there's only the occasional few thugs to worry about...right?</p><p>Wrong.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Introduction

**INTRODUCTION**

 

Why hello there! I hope you enjoy my first tiptoe into the Spiderman Fanfiction Fandom. I apologise for the silly title, but it was something that came to me when I saw the DVD of ‘The Perks of Being a Wallflower’ at a friend’s house. I have no idea what that film is even about or if it fits well with this story…but whatever, I thought it was an entertaining pun. If I think of anything better then I’ll change it so don’t get too attached.

Anyhoo, here are some important facts you need to know before you get started with this story, because I’m not going to keep explaining shit over and over.

1\. This is a Peter/MJ story, in case you couldn’t tell. No, there won’t be any Gwen/Peter, so please don’t bother asking. I used to have nothing against the paring, but the newer films have soured me to Gwen’s character to the point where I see her as nothing more than a Sexy-Lamp (basically a character you could replace with a pretty lamp and it would still have the exact same effect on the scene). MJ is no better in that aspect, but as I find I do actually prefer MJ _ever so slightly_ more, I went with MJ.

2\. It’s an AU universe in the sense that Peter and MJ didn’t know each other before the events of the plot, so there’s no boring high school drama or anything, isn’t that neat? Take notes Mr Bay! They’re also a little bit older by a few years (because yey for emotionally mature adults), and I’m going to attempt to make sure MJ no longer suffers from what I call _Obligatory Irritating Love Interest Syndrome_ , an arduous task I know.

3\. Please be aware that I absolutely WILL be playing with Peter’s powers a lot (including a complete ‘biological webbing’ power tree rather than the Web-Shooters thing because it’s just more logical/cool this way) so if something doesn’t seem right, just assume it’s intentional because it probably is. Do feel free to give me some pointers on characterisation though, I welcome the advice!

ENJOY!


	2. Chapter 1

New York

They say it’s the city that never sleeps…but then again, no city ever truly does. The lights never dim, and the eternal rush of traffic forever hangs in the air. Some would call it a busy metropolis of opportunity and promises for the future, a true testimony to evolution and human endurance. Others may take a more cynical view and call it a gluttonous ogre sprawled across stolen land, a carbon copy of the primitive sewer pits of old.

Peter was old-school. He just called it ‘home’.

Slouched on a large hammock of webbing strung between two large support beams snuggled close together, he kept a lazy eye out for signs of trouble in the city across the river. Thunder crashed high in the sky, and Peter was grateful for the shelter the bridge above provided him as he eyed the pouring rain. He lay back with a long stretch, sighing and listening to the sounds of the cars rumbling along the road above mingling with the distant echoes of the storm in an intense tango of harsh noise.

The day had been pretty quiet, save for the occasional bursts of thunder overhead. Peter wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or a bad thing. On one hand it meant he had some spare time to catch up on sleep and generally laze about like a perfectly normal person on a Sunday afternoon, but on the other…it was just really, really _boring._

No goons to play with, no high-speed chases to dominate, no rescuing nice old ladies’ kittens stuck in trees, no finding lost balloons for squealing kids…nothing but him and his thoughts. A dangerous combination if there ever was one.

Peter heaved a dramatic sigh and sat up, reaching for his bag carefully stored in a small cocoon of extra-strength webbing in the crook of the closest beam. He liked to think of this particular spot as his own private little hideaway. It was hidden from view unless someone climbed underneath the road, and provided an excellent vantage point to see the city through a small diamond shaped opening if he sat at the right angle. Perfect for waiting out the early-winter storms.

Peter rooted around in his bag before finally pulling out a large magazine, the blue and yellow cover stained with the coffee he’d spilt earlier that day. Although it wasn’t very thick, it was quite wide and only barely fit into his backpack without having to be folded. He made a mental note to buy a bigger bag when his pay next came in as he flicked through the pages to find his last spot.

He settled back in his hammock and scanned the pages, flicking a glance across the river every now and then to check for any police helicopters. That usually signalled something big was going down. There was nothing to be heard, not even a siren.

Well, nothing except the low growl his stomach let out.

 _‘Should’ve made some sandwiches…’_ Peter thought, _‘Note to self, pack some lunch before going out for a full day of wall-crawling. Aunt May will never forgive me if I turn up for a visit any thinner than she remembers.’_

Peter resigned himself to the general inactivity of the day and turned his attention fully to the words on the pages, losing himself in a fascinating study on the new species of spiders found in the Amazon by a small research team.

Call it a silly little idiosyncrasy if you will, but he did like to keep up to date with his eight-legged brethren.

He was just finishing up reading about a curious little beastie who spun ultra-thick webs so strong that even machetes had trouble clearing them, when he heard the telltale sounds of chopper blades cutting through the air. His head snapped up, and he searched the bustling city for the source of the sound.

“Ah ha!” Peter announced with a wide grin. “Finally!”

It was times like these he truly appreciated the powers he’d been somewhat reluctantly gifted with. His eyes quickly spotted and zoomed in on the helicopter, the rest of the world falling away in a blur, tracking its movement and placing a mental tag on its probable path as he stuffed his magazine back into his bag.

The webbing, once so horribly strange and alien, slid effortlessly from his wrist and stuck to the opposite support beam. He swung, using his body to propel the action upwards and fling himself up in the air above the bridge. Again and again he swung, sparing nary a thought into each movement as he sped over the bridge, high above the cars stuck in traffic and frustrated drivers thumping their horns, and into the clustered majesty of the city. The rain slammed against him as he swung from building to building, and he repressed a shiver as the cold air whistled past.

 _‘Second note to self, remember to buy some cold medicine on my way home.’_ Peter thought as he caught up with the helicopter, _‘I’ll probably need it by the time I’m done.’_

He swung around the corner of a building, before coming to a stop and perching atop the head of a statue jutting out from a roof as he surveyed the situation below. It looked to be a small standoff between three armed thugs and the police.

Peter considered his options. It didn’t look like the police had noticed him yet, which meant the criminals certainly hadn’t. All he would have to do is drop down from above, tie the big mean thugs up nice and neat like, and then be on his merry way before the police remembered they were supposed to be arresting him.

Easy peasy…or so he hoped. As the sounds of gunshots sliced through the air, Peter realised he didn’t much fancy digging bullets out of his flesh again thank you very much, so he would have to make sure he took down the good shots first.

He zoned his gaze in on the scene below, tracking the different bullets being shot and watching for where they impacted. He was in luck, as it looked like only one of the thugs had a decent shooting arm, his bullets speeding into the police car alarmingly close to an officer’s head. The other two barely managed to hit anything with any semblance of accuracy.

With a heavy sigh and low mutterings about ‘slow days at the office’, Peter began to crawl down the wall until he reached a sturdy alcove not too high above the standoff and within webbing distance of a lamppost he could use to hang his targets. He planted his feet so they stuck securely to the brick, and took aim at the larger thug currently otherwise occupied with trying to blast out the brains of New York’s Finest.

“Oh dearie, dearie me!” Peter mimicked the voice Aunt May would always use on him when he wasn’t behaving in a way she thought appropriate. “What absolutely dreadful manners you have. I’ll have none of that in _my_ city, young man. Go to your room and think about what you’ve done!”

Before the thug knew what hit him, he was dangling upside down from a lamppost with strong, thick silk bonds enclosed around him in a tight cocoon. The other two swiftly joined him with shared yelps of surprise. Their weapons clattered innocently to the ground.

The officers stood in shock for a few moments, whereupon they saw the infamous and still somewhat mythical Spiderman of New York casually perched on the post as though the entire situation bored him.

“You!” One of the officers, an older man with greying hair and a rather spectacular moustache, shouted. “Get down here right now, you wall-crawling menace!”

“Nah I think I’ll stay up here thanks, if it’s all the same to you.” Spiderman retorted, “I’m a free spirited spider. That’s why me and jail cells have never really got on, see. We tried to make our relationship work, we really did, but in the end I think we both decided we just needed some space.”

“Don’t you sass me boy, I’ve got a job to do.”

“And I just made it about ninety percent easier! You’re welcome!” He offered them a cheeky salute before taking off in a blur of red and blue, the sound of his laughter lingering in his wake.

One of the younger officers shrugged and holstered his gun. “Well…y’know he’s not actually wrong...right?”

The elder officer glared at him.

Now speeding far away from the scene, Peter was still laughing. The cold air felt exhilarating as it whistled around him, and even the rain didn’t bother him that much. He delighted in the memory of the thugs’ dumbfounded faces as they were suddenly upside down and the scandalised expressions of the officers as he swung away into the sunset.

 _‘Still,’_ he reminded himself as he sobered up, _‘can’t let myself get too cocky. That’s how mistakes are made. Mistakes like getting shot in the leg and having to dig the bullet out.’_

Peter grimaced as his brain happily provided a reminder of exactly how that had felt.

He latched on to the side of a building and flung himself around the corner, absently searching the ground below for signs of disturbance as he sped past. Nothing pricked at his brain specifically, though he did stop when his Sense alerted him to raised voices and wild movements, which turned out to be a small domestic dispute over the colour of curtains. He was guilty of sticking around (no pun intended) for several minutes to listen to the row, though in his defence there were plenty of statistics regarding the correlation between homicides and quarrels between partners. Well…that was what he told himself at least, but if he were being truthful he just really wanted to see how it ended. He decided he was rooting for the girl this time, because she was totally right…blue curtains had no business being near bright orange walls and that was final.

Once he was sure the argument wasn’t going to dissolve into anything more sinister, he moved on. Night had descended upon the city, the universal cue for every crook, pervert, and escaped mental patient to raise their ugly heads. Peter kept a wary eye on the back-alleys as he swung high above the streets, stopping occasionally to check out the more notorious ones for any nefarious deeds.

After the fifth alley turned up completely desolate, Peter heaved an exasperated sigh. He hated nights like this. The quiet always put him on edge, even though he knew it was simply a momentary lapse in activity that would likely start up again come morning.

“I could be at home right now. In a nice warm apartment. Eating food and watching TV. Then going to sleep in my cosy bed.”Peter groused to himself as he dropped down atop a seedy bar to check the alley behind it. “Honestly NY, the things I sacrifice for you. For very little thanks may I just add! I could be out meeting a nice girl…or guy even. Maybe I swing that way too. I wouldn’t actually _know_ since I haven’t had the chance to try out all the options life has presented me, what with all my time being spent making sure Jane and Joe Public don’t become Jane and Joe _Doe_.”

Peter peered down at the alley below and squashed down a scream of frustration. Nothing. Zip, zilch, nada.

“Argh! What, is it half-term at Criminal High or something?!”

A plump rat scurried across the alley towards a discarded fast food container. It scrabbled around at the package before managing to open the lid and tuck in to the half-eaten burger that lay within.

“Great, even the _rats_ are getting their dinner.” Peter grumbled. “Screw it. If I don’t find anything before eleven, I’m calling it quits for tonight.”

A quick glance at the watch concealed under his glove told him he had half an hour to find a crook to punch…for the safety of the city of course…not for personal stress relief or anything. With a final, envious glance at the rat happily minding its own business far below, Peter launched himself into the air and made his way to the next oh-so-reputable location, a handy shortcut turned hunting ground for perverts wedged between two cheap takeaway places.

He instantly clocked a guy hanging around in the shadows, flipping a switchblade between his fingers in some sort of odd game.

“Bit of an odd place to hang about in.” Peter commented lowly as he made himself comfortable on the roof of another less-than-classy bar opposite the alley. “Think I’m going to stick around for a while and keep an eye on you, buddy. You’re pinging on my radar in all kinds of icky ways.”

It was a good call too. Moments later a _very_ wobbly woman staggered down the street, barely managing to retain her dignity as she struggled to walk in her stilettos. She stopped and frowned at the alley, obviously considering whether or not to walk through the darkness.

“Don’t risk it.” Peter murmured. “Play it safe. Stick to the light.”

She didn’t. She apparently couldn’t see the suspicious bloke lingering in the shadows from where she stood, though whether that was the fault of the poor lighting or the excessive consumption of alcohol remained to be seen. Peter sighed as she stumbled into the alley.

 _‘People will do anything for a shortcut.’_ He thought, swinging quickly across the street when he noticed Mr Suspicious wandering after the woman.

Said woman was rooting in her purse for her phone, which he could hear ringing. Mr Suspicious was approaching her, though she couldn’t see as he was directly behind her. Peter aimed his wrists in preparation, waiting for the moment. Mr Suspicious drew the switchblade out from his pocket and grabbed the woman’s arm.

The woman shrieked and Peter launched into action, pinning the guy’s hand to the wall with a glob of his stickiest web and dropping down to finish the job. The guy kicked out, but Peter was faster. He swiftly delivered a knock-out punch to the pervert’s head.

“H’ly fuck! Ohmgod!” The woman slurred shakily, “Din’t even _see_ him!”

“Yeah, his type is good at that tactic.” Peter said, keeping his tone light and hoping it would reassure the poor woman. “Don’t worry. He’s not waking up for a while, and the cops will pick him up soon enough when I call them. You’re okay.”

“Thank…thank you.” The woman raised a trembling hand to brush away a few disturbed curly blonde strands from her eyes, smudging her bright makeup, before she paused and then suddenly looked vaguely triumphant. “Ha! I _knew_ th’se newsrags were tellin’ all sorts’a porky-pies! You really are an actual real life superhero, like all real and savin’ people and stuff.”

“Eh, I just did what any upstanding citizen would have done.”

“Nah see, cos a lotta people wouldn’t do nuthin’.” The woman said, her quaking settling down somewhat. “Far’s they’d care, it’d be my fault cos I’m drunk. Evn’ though that’s bullshit and stuff.”

Peter shook his head. “Good thing I’m not one of those people then, eh?”

The woman managed a shaky laugh. “Too right! I’da been in real trouble cos I forgot my pepper spray too.” Her smile faded slightly. “Speakin’ of trouble…what’re you gonna do with the perv over there? ‘Aint the cops just gonna arrest you when you call ‘em? Nah bro, that shit ‘aint goin’ down! I’ll stick up for you!”

“Not to worry, I’m always _long_ gone before the boys in blue show up.” Peter grinned and tipped her a wink, even though he knew she couldn’t see it. “That reminds me, can I borrow your phone? I better call said fine boys and girls before Shady over there starts coming to. I don’t have my own because honestly, where would I even put it in this outfit?”

“I can think of a few places, but I proly shouldn’t say ‘em out loud.”

The woman pulled her phone from the depths of her bag and handed it to Peter.

“Thank you.” Peter quickly dialled the number of this week’s favourite detective and tried not to snigger when the man picked up.

“Good evening Detective Cooper!” He trilled, relishing in the exasperated groan from the other end of the line. “There’s an absolutely lovely little package waiting for you in the alley across from Jeeves’ Bar. It’s the standard Rapist model, complete with a limited edition switchblade accessory. Spidey-Inc is not liable for any damage the package may or may not have received during the dispatching process. Thank you for ordering with us, and we hope to see you again soon!”

The woman bit back her giggles as she heard the cop sputtering through the phone before being cut off mid-sentence. She made to walk forward, but her legs finally gave way and she fell. Peter caught her and lifted her up effortlessly, dropping her phone back in her bag as he did so.

“ARGH! My boobs are fallin’ out! Knew I shouldn’t have worn this stupid dress! Been fallin’ down all effing night.”

“I’m not looking.”

“I would. They’re very nice boobs.”

“I’ll take your word for it.”

The woman hitched the neckline of her dress higher, grumbling loudly. “Imma burn this thing when I get home. Speakin’ of gettin’ home, you gonna put me down or not?”

“Well…I hate to be all presumptuous on you, but ma’am I cannot in good conscience let you walk home like this. You’ll do something dreadful to your ankle in those things.” He said, mentioning to her shoes. “Therefore my lady, I most humbly request that I may have the honour of escorting you home.”

“Well would’ya lookee-here, I’ve gone an’ bagged myself a proper gentlespider. Mother’ll be so proud.”


	3. Chapter 2

Tiffany, as it turned out she was called, had been an entertaining damsel to say the least. Peter was almost sad to leave when he dropped her off back home, and the presence of Nemo the adorable and _very_ huggable Dalmatian puppy hadn’t exactly helped in that matter.

Still, there was crime to fight and cops to annoy. It wouldn’t do to disappoint the fine people of New York by _not_ having his name showing up on the cover of every paper under an incredibly cheesy and/or accusing headline.

_‘Speaking of making headlines…’_

Peter took a small detour to a local paper stand, lying close to the shadowy walls of the corner shop above. He could see an open magazine quite well from his current angle, and an amused grin found its way onto his face when he read the article he could see.

**_THE SPIDERMAN: TRUTH OR MYTH?_ **

**_For weeks, New Yorkers have pondered the answer to this exact question._ **

**_Rumours abound of a red and blue blur swinging around the city, and ordinary civilians are receiving national attention by swearing on their mother’s grave they have been saved by the still-elusive vigilante._ **

Below this opening, there was a rather blurry picture of him swinging by the old theatre-turned-art museum.

Peter sighed internally. So far he’d been pretty careful to say out of the limelight, not wanting to become pushed to the front of a media shitstorm before he’d even learned the ropes and earned his costume. He was starting to relax his grip now though, being fairly confident in his ability to evade any attempts to either capture him or reveal his identity.

**_This is believed to be the clearest picture of the so-called ‘Spiderman’ in action, an accidental fluke as a tourist snapped a shot of the streets. Though doubts as to its authenticity have been raised, nothing has come of them. So far, this not-so-eight-legged fellow has managed to dodge New York’s plentiful cameras with his lightning-fast swinging past unsuspecting civilians scrambling to capture even the tail end of their encounter, and quickly exiting the area before the news vans show up at a scene._ **

**_New York Police have issued a statement in which they have dismissed the rumours as nothing more than mass hysteria in response to a few isolated incidences believed to be loosely connected. This has of course done absolutely nothing to stem the flow of people trooping into the station to confirm their rescuer’s identity, and nor has it closed the floodgates for the Internet’s current rabid obsession with the supposedly mythical man._ **

**_Whatever the case, it seems Spiderman is indeed living up to his namesake. Camera-shy and reclusive he may be, but he may not be able to stay that way for very much longer. Many large-scale news publishers like The Daily Bugle have put out requests for good quality pictures in exchange for a large sum of reward money, and tourists are flocking to New York for a chance to see the now infamous figure for themselves._ **

**_Brace yourself Spidey, the Iphone-wielding public is coming!_ **

Peter felt an inspired grin splitting across his face. People were offering money for good pictures of him, were they? Well then…wasn’t it just wonderfully convenient he’d just this very second taken up an interest in photography?

 _‘Connors pays me nicely enough.’_ Peter thought, _‘But it’d be nice to have a bit extra cash lying around just in case. Never know when some savings will come in handy.’_

Realising how late it had gotten, Peter quickly returned to the bridge to collect his stuff, and then set about finding an unused back alley. He found one thankfully close to his apartment, and proceeded to change into his normal clothes in record time. He'd become quite the master of fast dressing over the weeks since he began his vigilante activities. It certainly shaved off a bit of time in the mornings too, which was always a plus.

Shouldering his backpack and moving quickly to avoid the downpour of rain he could feel on the way, Peter began the short walk back to his apartment. It was a nice enough place. A little on the cheap side perhaps, but it served its purpose well and the landlady was lovely. It didn’t take too long to get back. Soon enough he was unlocking his door, throwing his backpack down, and dropping heavily onto his couch just as the heavens opened outside and his windows became glassy waterfalls under the cascade.

 _‘Ugh…work tomorrow.’_ Peter thought, though he counted himself lucky he'd managed to land the afternoon shift rather than the morning.

Don’t get him wrong, he enjoyed his work immensely. The projects were always interesting, and Connors was a brilliant man fast becoming a firm friend…but at the same time Peter found it was often difficult to bully his brain into doing some work when he knew he could be out watching over the city. He supposed it was only natural.

He wondered if it would ever fade. This urge, need even, to be sailing high above the streets and dropping in on unsuspecting crooks before they managed to harm innocent people. It was distracting at the best of times and invasive at its worst. It had scrabbled and scratched its way into the very core of his being and stuck itself there, immovable and constant.

It was like a drug, almost. Addictive in its own way and just as hard to tear away from, a relentless niggling voice in the back of his head that refused to let him rest, incessantly reminding him there were people out there needing his help. Even in his deepest sleep, he felt its presence. Every nightmare followed the same pattern, watching horrible things happen and being unable to move, or not being fast enough, being just those few minutes late at the cost of so many lives.

Like a string being pulled at, it threatened to drag him over the cliff edge if he wasn’t careful. And he had to be so careful. It was far too easy to start spiralling down into the depths his powers so attractively presented him, far too easy to lose sight of his normal life, to forget everything and jump completely into the one he led behind his mask.

Peter huffed out a breath, realising he couldn’t spend all night cogitating on the couch but lacking the motivation to actually get up and go to bed. It was a terrible predicament, one he found himself falling into the trap of more often than not these days.

He forced himself to sit up and stretch with a low grunt, feeling his shoulder pop as the tension was released, and ambling across to his bedroom to change into his nightclothes and place his phone on the bedside table. He didn’t need to bother with the light, being able to see perfectly in the pitch black of the apartment. Another one of his powers he found to be incredibly useful, especially in saving money on the electric.

He swiftly changed into his favourite nightclothes, a pair of fleecy blue tracksuit bottoms and a soft red top, and headed into the bathroom to brush his teeth before falling heavily into the comfort of the bed.

Peter curled into the warm press of blankets tucked securely around him, slowly unwinding to the trickling beat of the rain against the glass and the rolling drum of thunder splintering and crashing high in the clouds, flashes of lightening occasionally peeking through the cracks in the curtains and setting the room aflame for a few moments.

It was a strangely peaceful setting.

Peter shifted slightly, finding a more comfortable position as the chill winter wind outside bluster violently, sending a shattering of raindrops to pummel the window. He shivered slightly; glad he hadn’t decided to stay out much longer.

Peter’s eyes slowly closed, and he drifted off to the sounds of the warring heavens.


End file.
